Kiss the Hare's Foot

coincidental.

1

The boot lid slammed down over Mel’s cowering body with a resounding thud. Blackness and silence simultaneously engulfed her, stifling her involuntary scream. Terror paralysed her mind which refused to think rationally. Let me out! Please let me out! Mel’s shouts were muffled within her cramped prison and tears stung her eyes. The tiny space was airless and smelt overpoweringly of chemically impregnated carpet, so that she thought she would choke. As the cold hard metal pressed against her, Mel sobbed uncontrollably.

It had all happened so suddenly. The last few minutes seemed to have rushed by in a haze and whirlwind of heart-stopping panic. It was impossible to rationalise the ferocity of her attack and abduction from the operating theatre suite where she worked as a recovery nurse. It was still early morning, for goodness’ sake, in a busy general hospital. Could it really be possible that no one had seen her taken? She felt numbed by a punch to her face during the struggle and a hot stinging pain to her neck where the neck chain to her identity disc had been held tight round her throat.

Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary that day as her shift had begun; nothing to suggest the drama about to unfold. In fact it was a day she had been looking forward to. Warm lazy days on sun-kissed golden sands, on the idyllic islands of Greece had been foremost on her mind as she had begun her last shift before a holiday - certainly not this!

With a huge breath she screamed again with all the energy she could muster, Help! Please help me, someone! But it was useless. Despite her frantic attempts, there was insufficient room to bang hard on the boot lid.

With her 5’7" slim frame curled into the foetal position, she tried desperately to control her breathing, which seemed to be racing in competition with her heart rate. Blood tasted salty on her rapidly swelling lip and her whole body shook violently as a wave of nausea swept over her. ‘Concentrate on the breathing, slow deep breaths, in and out’ - words she had spoken as a nurse so many times to patients in her hospital recovery room as they emerged from anaesthesia.

Two short movements of the car suggested that both her abductors had boarded the vehicle. The engine fired into life and immediately she felt the car moving, slowly at first as it was gently manoeuvred through the hospital car park.

With her back pressed against the inner partition behind the rear seats, Mel imagined it slowing by the main gate. After a moment’s pause, she was forced violently against the rear bodywork of the boot as the car accelerated out onto the road. Imprisoned in the dark suffocating chasm of the boot, she was completely helpless.

As the minutes passed, Mel re-lived the events of the morning leading up to her attack, trying to make sense of such an attack by an intruder in what should normally be a secure hospital department.

It had been only by chance that it was she and not her colleague Rosemary who had taken the first coffee break. Starting their shift at eight o’clock, she and her colleague Tina had worked preparing the equipment in the Recovery Room in readiness for the surgical patients of the day.

Just after nine, Rosemary had arrived late. Rushing through the door red-faced and out of breath, complaining, Couldn’t find a parking space and guess what, there was a big black car parked right across the top of the steps round the back. There was a horrible-looking man in the driving seat, but he wouldn’t move it. I’d have given him a piece of my mind if I’d had time. Mel recalled how Rosemary had vented her frustration by tossing her handbag into the staff cabinet in the corner of the Recovery Unit so hard that the drawer had bounced back open with the force. Although Mel had suggested that Rosemary take the first coffee break while she and Tina completed the preparation of the Unit, the offer had been fervently declined in her apology for lateness, insisting that she should go last. It was Mel, therefore, who had unwittingly presented as the easy target for the abductor.

Although it was early to be taking a coffee break, the very nature of surgery dictated that the Recovery Unit would enjoy a short respite while the first operations of the day were in progress. In the little kitchen she had helped herself to a mug of coffee. Next door in the lounge she remembered hearing the muffled sounds of the television set, often entertaining an empty room if the last occupant to leave had failed to switch it off before returning to the operating theatres. She would see to it.

She recalled how a slight indeterminate noise behind her had caused her instinctively to turn her head and found herself confronted by the unexpected appearance of a man, not in the usual attire of theatre ‘blues’, but a stranger in outdoor clothing. Obstructing the doorway, with feet astride, stood a rough looking man with a ruddy-coloured, weathered face scored with wrinkles. He was a large man, his neck disproportionately so. Short, mousy hair stood erect, like stubble, covering the dome of his scalp. His open mouth exposed discoloured uneven teeth which reminded Mel of a bulldog. Despite his rugged appearance, Mel estimated he was probably still in his thirties. Dressed in black faded jeans and a black leather jacket he glared at Mel with wide round eyes. For a moment their eyes met, her surprise rooting her to the spot.

What are you doing here? This is a sterile department. You shouldn’t be in here.

You a theatre nurse?

Er, yes. Alarmed by his demeanour, her stomach began to knot. Saliva dried from her mouth, her breathing reduced to rapid short snatches of air.

After a moment’s hesitation and to Mel’s absolute horror, the man had lunged forward, grabbing her by the arm. Losing her grip on the mug, the steaming coffee cascaded onto the floor, spraying an arc across the wall in its descent. The mug fell sideways onto the worktop, saved by its handle from crashing down after its contents while the teaspoon spun crazily, careering noisily into the sink.

You’re coming wi’ me then! he spat and tightened his grip on her arm as he spun her round, taking up a position behind.

Grabbing hold of the fine chain attached to the identity badge which hung round her neck, he pulled it tightly towards him, using it as an instrument with which to constrain his captive’s movements. She had desperately tried to shout out, but no sound came. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would explode. Legs that turned suddenly to rubber tried valiantly to support her as he swung her round and propelled her out of the kitchen and towards the rear security door. In a sickening haze Mel noticed that the door, which was normally locked, was held ajar by a small block of wood. She stumbled, gasping for breath as the chain dug into her neck, pinching the skin at her throat.

Go on, hissed the intruder and she felt his hot breath on the back of her neck, fast and tense, as he hastened to make good his escape.

With a free hand she had tried in vain to get her fingers in between the chain and the skin of her throat. Then, as they reached the outside door, she seized a small chance to halt their progress by grabbing at the upright of the doorframe but immediately lost her grip. With even greater compulsion, the intruder forced her through the doorway. Hardly noticing the cold chill in the air as they left the building, adrenaline pulsated through her veins.

Passing along the side of the building, three office windows looked out onto the pathway. ‘Oh, please let someone see what’s happening to me,’ but closed vertical blinds hid her plight from view. As they negotiated a flight of concrete steps leading towards a large car park she struggled to maintain her balance. Half way up she tripped. Roughly, with one hand still gripped tightly on her upper arm, the large man lifted her like a flimsy rag doll. Then she saw the car. Just as Rosemary had described, a large black limousine was parked, blocking the pathway.

Reaching the top of the steps, a second man with a alighted from the driver’s door and walked round to the rear where he opened the boot. What took you so long, Hood? he hissed to the big man. Get her in there, quick. Smaller and older than his accomplice, he was a thin, wizen man with a hook nose. Dressed in a grey fleece top, wispy grey hair blew wildly in the wind, but his sharp features and pale skin accentuated piercing brown eyes which constantly darted nervously about in his anxiety to succeed in their mission without drawing attention to themselves.

Quit your grumbling and give me a hand, moaned her assailant as he struggled to force his captive towards the vehicle.

Panic at the realisation of their intentions stimulated a further surge of frenzied resistance. This had to be her only chance to get free.

Help! Help me! Mel yelled with all her strength, but her voice sounded weak and hoarse. Spontaneously, the second man struck her hard across the mouth with the back of his hand, taking her breath away. Hot pain seared from a split bottom lip and she felt a thin line of blood trickling slowly down her chin. Reeling from the punch, she was powerless to resist as they roughly bundled her down into the void of the boot. Immediately the lid was slammed shut and the blackness of her confined space swallowed her up.

Now, trying desperately to rationalise her thoughts, she realised it was imperative that she try to be alert and take the first opportunity that presented itself for escape. There was newness in the smell of the carpet, almost intoxicating within the confines of the closed space. Feeling tentatively with fingertips, there did not appear to be any tools or implements which might be of some use. Hardly likely, she thought grimly, that such an item would have been conveniently left there. A change from the jarring motion of the car to a monotonous hum suggested they were now on open road. She tried to relax and conserve her energy.

Suddenly her misery was exacerbated as cramp gripped the muscle at the back of her left calf. Unable to straighten her legs, she reached down with a free hand to massage the area fiercely. The confined space had become hot and stuffy so that drowsiness began to disorientate her. Resigned, she tried to lie perfectly still, trying desperately to comprehend her situation. She wondered how long this frightening ordeal was likely to last and despair swept over her. Eventually, after what seemed like half an hour, the vehicle slowed and turned sharply onto what appeared to be an unmade track.

Keep calm. I must keep calm, she told herself, as rising panic once again threatened her self-control. Whatever they’re going to do to me, I must try and think clearly.

The car stopped and the engine died. Moments later the boot lid was raised and bright daylight flooded in with a rush of cold fresh air. Blinded by the light, Mel blinked and shielded her eyes, momentarily unable to identify the faces that peered into her cavern.

Get out! Hood snapped and grabbing her arm, pulled her into an upright sitting position from which, with great difficulty, she scrambled over the back lip of the boot. Her legs were weak and uncoordinated, her throat sore and she instantly shook as cold air struck like an arctic blast causing her thin blue theatre scrubs to adhere to her body like an ill-fitting skin, flapping in the wind.

They had driven into a short un-made road which culminated in a line of disused lock-up garages adjacent to an open wooden barn, now missing its doors and many of its roof tiles. Tall trees and shrubs hid the location from the road, where the passage of traffic could still be heard, so near yet so far away. Held firmly by Hood, Mel watched lamely as the driver unlocked one of the garages and drove out a dark blue BMW, parking it beside the barn before exchanging it with the black limousine, securing the vehicle out of sight behind the same weathered door with a large padlock. He beckoned to Hood to bring Mel over and proceeded to open the boot.

In the back this time, said Hood.

You stupid, or what? replied the driver.

It’s a long way. She’ll suffocate in the boot.

The smaller man pulled a face. You’re too soft, he growled.

We don’t want her dead yet, do we? I sometimes think, Starchy, you’ve got no brain at all.

Cursing under his breath, the driver retrieved what appeared to be a brown woven cloth bag from the front pocket of the car and without another word pulled it roughly over Mel’s head.

The smell was awful. Musty fine particles of dust from the material made the air she breathed taste like gritty sawdust. Confused and frightened she was pushed into the back seat of the second car, wincing as the skin of her shin scraped on the footboard. Instinctively she spread her hands wide in front to protect herself and avoid falling down onto the foot well.

Lie down and don’t move or I’ll have to tie you up Hood spat the command. Mel had no option but to obey. Her world was darkened again by the material covering her face, but at least the soft upholstery of the long back seat was a slight improvement on her previous experience. With a heavy heart, Mel began to realise that this was not a spontaneous abduction, but a carefully timed and planned hostage taking. But why? What value or purpose could there be in abducting her? She wasn’t rich or famous.

Both men boarded the vehicle, but neither spoke again. The engine purred gently as the car slowly retraced the route to the main road and then accelerated swiftly away from the rendezvous. It warmed up quickly and as she accustomed to the dank mustiness of the covering over her head, she thought she could detect the occasional faint smell of tobacco suggesting that at least one of the two men was a smoker. For as long as she could tolerate it, she laid completely still, the fear of incarceration in the boot preventing the temptation to change her position.

With the click of a switch, a radio broke the silence and intermittent music and voices could be heard as one of the captors searched for an audio station, finally choosing a natural history programme, which appeared to be about birds and geese.

The car settled into a monotonous hum, its speed and lack of cornering suggesting that progress was now on a motorway. Mel attempted to speculate in which direction they might be heading, but quickly gave up. With no idea where they had been in the first car, even less about the distance they had travelled, it was a pointless exercise. All the time the presenter on the radio continued to speak enthusiastically about geese and formation flying, explaining at length how the birds ahead reduced wind resistance for those following and how each bird in turn takes the lead. Mel listened more as a distraction from reality than with any interest as he went on to relate how, when one bird has to land for rest or food, another will always stay with it for support. Oh how she wanted someone for support right now!

She realised, too, as time went on, her terror was gradually being overtaken by anger. How dare they just take another human being in this way and forcibly subject them to pain and fear. Thoughts returned to the Recovery Unit back at the hospital and what her colleagues must have thought when she didn’t return from her coffee break. They must know that something was wrong; that she wouldn’t just go off without a word. Desperate for reassurance, she hoped that perhaps they had contacted the police and maybe a search was already underway. But then, more realistically, why should they? If nobody had seen her taken, why ever would they suspect anything like this? It was like something out of a horror movie, not normal everyday life in England. The change of cars, too, would make finding her quickly an impossible task! They were now miles from home and speeding further away with every minute that passed.

As time passed, Mel’s position lying on the back seat was again tempting the return of the cramp in her calf.

Can I sit up? She asked quietly. I’ve got cramp in my leg. She hoped that her good behaviour might grant some leniency from the men. It was worth a try and there was also the possibility that she might be able to see a little through the open gap at the bottom of the hood which would be a positive help.

Stay where you are! Hood’s gruff reply brought no comfort and the fear of being tied up prevented her from challenging him again.

With the goose programme concluded, a bright female voice introduced the midday news bulletin. An Argentinean cargo ship aground off the coast of Ireland and the latest government issues monopolised most the programme. Before its conclusion the radio was switched off, cutting short an item on the mysterious disappearance of a doctor and the remainder of the programme. Mel felt tension between her travelling companions, although no words were spoken. Lying along the length of the back seat was now very uncomfortable. She shifted her position carefully and slowly, managing to straighten her legs sufficiently to stimulate the circulation.

How much further? Desperately wanting the journey to be over, she also feared its conclusion, unable in her mind to formulate any sort of realistic escape plan. She’d heard of human trafficking; would she be raped, used as a prostitute, taken out of the country? The possibilities were horrifying and only served to fuel her feelings of panic.

Exhausted from stress and the monotony of the journey, she closed her eyes and tried to relax. The hum of the engine and constant vibration encouraged her to doze intermittently until eventually the vehicle slowed and turned sharply. Its motion began to vibrate violently as the surface connecting with the tyres changed again from that of smooth tarmac to yet another un-made rough track. Then the car slowed to a halt and the engine died. Whatever their destination, it seemed they had at last arrived.

2

Instructed to get out by her captor, Mel once again scrambled stiffly out of the car as the cloth hood was snatched away as unceremoniously as it had been fitted. Instantly she was shivering again and for some reason Mel found incomprehensible, the three of them stood together in a line by the side of the car and waited. Hood stood close to Mel’s shoulder but this time without using restraint. Despite her desire to attempt to run, she had neither the strength nor expectation that such an attempt had any chance of success, so stood submissively with her captors in the gusting cold wind. They waited in silence as though pausing to take in the panoramic view that lay below them.

Gentle undulating countryside stretched in every direction as far as the horizon. A patchwork of grass fields and cultivated farmland, structured by lines of distant alder and lime trees showing the golden colours of autumn gave no comfort on this damp and bleak day. The only inhabitants of this rural landscape appeared to be a few scattered groups of sheep grazing on segments of the mostly square fields.

Ahead of them and nestled low in a dip at the foot of the raised mound on which they stood was the only human commitment to this isolated location. She stared at the derelict remains of what might at one time have been an impressive country house. It had the appearance of a bye-gone abbey, with an unusual juxtaposition of Norman and Gothic architecture. Part of the building was made of flint material and later alterations had included the use of softly hued red bricks, set in grey mortar. Boarded up windows now masked the Gothic features of this rambling building, which at its conception, might have been as commodious and imposing as wealth would allow. Now, it stood a pathetic desolate ruin, long past the point in time when practicable renovation would appear worthwhile. Three blocks of chimneys now gave nesting places and perches to resident birds, but one of the central chimney pots emitted a small wisp of smoke, instantly swept away in the sharp cold wind.

The grand stone aperture of the doorway no longer welcomed visitors, but supported a wall of wooden boarding, upon which was painted in large white handwritten letters, ‘Keep Out. Unsafe Building.’ The property, which had in earlier times proudly boasted sixteen arched windows overlooking the fresh open landscape, was now barricaded with timber, shielding its eyes from the light. Its retched fabric seemed now to withdraw into itself in readiness for the inevitable coming of winter with gloom and pessimism, the purpose of its existence no longer a welcome refuge for caring folk.

Mel stared in disbelief. Surely this awful place was not really their intended destination?

To the right of the great house and some quarter of a mile further along the rough track, stood the only other visible building, a small, similarly neglected church. Significant by its round tower, it had what remained of a conical cap. Its fabric appeared to be almost entirely of flint, with stone dressings to salient angles of the walls and buttresses.

The fierce wind raged at Mel’s flimsy and inappropriate attire until every muscle screamed for the blood supply that had now withdrawn to her innermost organs in an act of self-preservation. The biting cold was unforgiving and she ached from tension. With her fingers now white and stiff and arms wrapped around her chest tightly, she could no longer stand fully upright but stooped like a withering old woman.

Minutes seemed to pass and still they stood there. Then, at last, her cowering form sparked a humanitarian gesture in one of her captors. From the boot of the limousine, Starchy the driver reached in and withdrew a large light brown garment and threw it at her. He said nothing as she caught and held onto the man-sized coat. Fumbling, with fingers that would no longer co-operate, Mel struggled into its soft camel fur and wrapped it tightly around her middle like a blanket. The sleeves covered her frozen fingers and its thick velvety fabric hung well down below her knees. For a fleeting moment, she felt uninhibited gratitude, but as she looked up to see his face, he was already walking away back to the car. Seated once more behind the wheel, the limousine again fired into life and he drove gently away along the gravel track and out of sight. Her captor, Hood, remained standing beside her, seemingly impervious to the cold wind.

Miserably, she remained standing obediently beside her captor. Once more she considered making a run for it, but what was the point? The man beside her was strong and fit. She wouldn’t get very far and there was certainly nowhere to hide.

After what seemed like ages, but was probably only a few minutes, a man appeared from behind the left hand side of the derelict building. Wearing a sheepskin coat, his hands thrust deeply into its pockets, he stopped by the corner of the building and called, Get round here. He beckoned to them with a nod of his head. The origin of his northern accent was lost on Mel’s poor knowledge of dialects.

Pushed ahead by Hood, they walked round to where the man stood waiting and as they neared, he turned and led the way to the rear of the big house.

As they rounded the rear corner, a collection of derelict outhouses surrounded a rectangular courtyard. Most of the relics consisted of no more than